(no subject)

[constantdick]

WHO: John Constantine & OPEN
WHERE: Maurtia Falls, mostly
WHEN: anytime in March
WHAT: Magic! Drinking! CR building in general.
WARNINGS: nudity, chicken blood, alcohol, eta nsfw in the thread with Bob


[Maurtia Falls #007]

Currently, Constantine is standing outside of his housing in Maurtia Falls on whatever passes for a front lawn and it's fairly dark—which is probably a good thing, considering he's not wearing any clothing and is covered in chicken blood. Hey, he's trying not to make a mess in the house, alright? He's such a considerate housemate, really. (Hopefully any passing cops will see it that way.) Plus, being outside beneath a full moon helps with the general ambiance. The 'general ambiance' of what one might ask (if you dare) and if anyone stops and watches, it might become apparent to some that he's casting a spell, standing in a protective circle of what might be flour (but probably isn't), chanting first in English-

"Hear me, most Unnameable of Devourers who guardeth the Eternal Gateway! I seek an audience with one in your embrace!" Which is followed by a few commanding-sounding phrases in Old Aramaic (rinse, repeat)—although... nothing appears to be actually happening.

[Maurtia Falls; some dive bar]

In more clothed circumstances, John can be found at his home-away-from-home, aka a neighborhood bar, where he's just about halfway through a bottle of whiskey, an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the bar in front of him, brooding sexily.

Or alternately, catch him relating a story to the bartender and anyone else who might be sitting close by-

"You call that fun? Fun is when your ex-girlfriend who's currently a nun shoots you in the gut and leaves you at the mercy of an Invunche, and in order to survive, you're forced to invite a demon king to possess you, and after you go on a murder spree, you get locked up in a Mexican prison with time running out and very little 'ope of an exorcism. Now that was a fun weekend."

[Wildcard] Create your own starter and John will be there!


[Disclaimer: both of the above scenarios shamelessly inspired by NBC's Constantine. Prefer brackets? Go for it!]

Comments

@ Maurtia Falls

[divaricate]

As if Maurtia Falls wasn't eccentric enough already. She doesn't live in this city anymore, but she does still work here, and often works rather late — sometimes later than others, as like tonight. So, on her walk back, she happens to catch some of his attempts at magic, and while it's not a foreign concept to her, obviously, whatever he's doing doesn't seem to be working.

"...Maybe it's not the hugging type?" Ha. Ha ha. She offers after pausing for a few seconds to see what the hell he's trying to do.

[constantdick]

When one's focused on drawing a response from the Gatekeeper of Hell, Wanda's presence and subsequent comment are a bit of an anticlimax to say the least. Turning his head to look at her, John exhales, rolling his eyes just a bit.

"Well, it's not like I'm asking it to hug me, luv. Just trying to see if I can get a dialog going, yeah?"

[divaricate]

"You said embrace." She shrugs, keeping a straight face at her comments that are more of an friendly amused, joking tone. She knows she's a troll; it's part of her charm. Or, you know, whatever other word one wants to insert there instead. "Maybe it only speaks emoji." Finally, her straight face cracks a little and her lips curve into a small smile.

[constantdick]

"I wasn't speaking literally, alright? Guardians of the Underworld 'ave a tendency to appreciate more flowery language, as it were." As well as ritualistic blood-wearing, dramatic chanting and so on.

He gives her a look in return. "It's not exactly a text message, is it now?" Although that would be a bit more convenient, admittedly.

outside his house

[hisfavoriteson]

He's just finished up an on-location shoot and is making his slow way home for a late dinner with Chloe when he hears something interesting happening in a familiar voice. And then he gets close enough to see what's going on and it's even more interesting.

He quickly (and quietly) finds a spot in the yard to hide, where he can see Constantine but Constantine will have to search to find him. Something is about to happen, but it's probably not what the demon hunter was expecting.

Then he speaks in Old Aramaic, in a tone that's as impressive and offended as he can make it. "You dare disturb my slumber?"

[constantdick]

John blinks a little, feeling both heartened and surprised. On the one hand he'd pretty much pulled out all the stops in order to see if he could break through the barrier this dimension enclosed itself in once and for all, but on the other hand, he hadn't been feeling all that optimistic about it, having tried repeatedly in the last eight months or so. Success at last!

Clearing his throat, he replies in Old Aramaic as well, grinning a little. "Slumbering, were yeh Maalik? And 'ere I thought you were always on the alert, yadda yadda. Better not let the First of the Fallen catch yeh sleeping on the job."

[hisfavoriteson]

He has no idea who Maalik is, although he has a guess about who this First of the Fallen is supposed to be. Which is a fair point, he wouldn't have wanted to catch any of his demons sleeping on the job.

But he doesn't need to tell Constantine that.

"Him? I don't fear him. What's he going to do to me?"

[constantdick]

John has to raise his eyebrows a little at that display of naiveté.

"You 'ave to ask, do yeh? You're even more of an idiot than I thought you were. But that's beside the point, really—what I'd like 'ere, is to talk to Masher is he's around, so give 'im a shout, would yeh? There's a good demon."

[hisfavoriteson]

"I'm not your errand boy." He doesn't know what kind of demons Constantine's used to communicating with, but the ones he knows act like this. "Summon him next time."

[constantdick]

John frowns in confusion. "Do what now? You of all people should know that's not gonna work in 'is case—"

And then he pauses abruptly, folding his arms. "Alright, that's it. You're not Maalik... who the bloody hell are you?"

dive barrrrr

[eversohandsome]

Despite plying his friends with alcohol to soothe their worries, Bob isn't a big drinker. Whatever his run-ins with the law might have been back home, drink driving has never been on his rap sheet because he just doesn't agree with it. If he's driving, he won't be over the legal limit, and that's the main reason he's sipping on a Coke down the other end of the bar watching, with an amused smile, the blond man holding everyone's attention at the bar.

It's not just the story that has his focus but the accent too, something familiar, definitely not a southerner but he's met a fair few fun northerners in his time. That and everybody north of the river is a northerner to Bob. As a stool next to the man is vacated, he grabs his drink and wanders down the bar for a natter.

"Alright?" he greets the stranger with a smile and motions down at the now empty barstool.

"Mind if I sit?"

[constantdick]

Turning his head towards the person addressing him, John looks the newcomer up and down, a slow smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Well, 'ullo there, 'andsome. Be my guest, by all means."

Although he was born and bred in Liverpool, John's spent a good deal of time in London and also in the States, mostly around the Atlanta area, so his scouser accent's not as pronounced as it might have been in his younger days.

[eversohandsome]

"Cheers, mate," Bob says around the grin he shoots back, sliding himself on to the stool with only the barest of brushes against the other man's leg. He didn't miss the look up and down, would have been hard to miss it, if he's honest, but doesn't say anything about it just yet. Instead, he takes a casual sip of his bubbly soda, eyes fastened inquisitively on the blond man over the rim of his glass before setting it down on the bar in front of him.

"Liverpool?" he asks, certain words having clued him in to where from 'up North' the man might be from. There's a certain way Scousers speak and it's not like anybody else in the UK. That and Bob had a blinding weekend out in Liverpool only a couple of years ago so it's an accent he quite likes.

[constantdick]

Being a fairly forward person, John doesn't waste much time beating around the bush if he likes what he sees and so far, the view is quite nice. Yeah, he'll just take that barest of leg brushes and raise with a shoulder nudge as he reaches across the other man to retrieve a bowl, because apparently they're playing touch poker.

"Care for a nut?" he asks, pausing the bowl mid-air at the halfway point. "Yeah, that's right. Been a while though."

[eversohandsome]

"Don't mind if I do," comes the murmured reply from Bob who, realising he's being one-upped, happily cups the hand offering the bowl (to steady it, of course) and pulls out a nut or two. Popping both into his mouth, his hand lingers just a moment longer than is necessary before dropping back to the bar.

"Nice nuts," he comments with a smile and washes the saltiness away with another gulp of Coke. It's been a while since he's been able to play this game.

"How long's a while? That mean you're a reformed Liverpool or Everton supporter?" It's not that he's incapable of making everything about football, but when he's out at a bar talking to a decent looking bloke who's definitely given him the once over, football is as safe a subject as any to fall back on if he's got his wires crossed. He's got a kicking for less.

some dive bar

[bifroster]

Jane happened to be sitting nearby, wanting to enjoy a drink or two as well on a night off when she was (for once) caught up with projects, grading, and lesson planning. She was still having trouble sleeping, so staying awake was her only option. Normally, she would work, but when she nearly ruined three months’ worth of data by typing the wrong key … yeah, time to step away from the machines before she really caused some damage.

“You too?” she asked when he finished his story. “Well, I didn’t have a choice, and it wasn’t a demon, but possession is insane and it sucks.”

[constantdick]

John turns his head towards the person addressing him, taking a swallow of his drink before replying, because storytelling is thirsty work.

"Possessed, were yeh?" he asks, twitching an eyebrow. "Hopefully your ex-girlfriend didn't shoot you in the gut as well." He pauses, placing his glass back on the bar. "If not by a demon, what was it then?"

[bifroster]

Oh, yeah. This is going to be interesting.

"No, but I did have to rely on my ex-boyfriend's brother to get us from point a to point b without killing us. If I wasn't killed by a literal pre-universe cosmic entity that could change reality. But I don't know if that is worse than something that could be reasoned with, but won't."

[constantdick]

"Pre-universe cosmic entity," he repeats, tilting his head in consideration before taking a guess. "Sounds like some kind of god? And just for the record, whether or not a demon can be reasoned with is debatable," he adds with a wry twist of his lips.

[bifroster]

"Nothing that sentient, and it certainly wasn't worshiped. It was more like a ... physical manifestation of an aspect of the universe."

At his comment about demons, she hums.

"True. Many of them aren't human or consider themselves human, so they have a completely different mindset about even the most basic of things, or what we would consider basic."

dive bar

[anathemic]

He's being awfully cavalier about recounting said murder spree, but having met him before, Anathema's got an increasingly good idea of what to expect from John Constantine, Exorcist, Demonologist, Master of the Dark Arts. His business card's still stashed somewhere in her wallet. It's an ostentatious mouthful of titles, but the man is breezy, deflecting everything with humour and a wink. She knows the type.

Having spotted each other a couple drinks earlier, she'd moved across the bar to join John at his table, riveted by his stories.

After taking a moment to process that tale, finally, her first question is: "Normal nun or Satanic nun?"

[constantdick]

He'd left out the part of the story where he'd been attacked first by thugs who would've happily left him for dead, so at least they weren't innocents. But that wouldn't have been as good a story; he has an image to maintain after all. One never knows when a demon might be listening.

"Normal nun," he clarifies, glancing over at Anathema with a smile. "Although that's not to say there wasn't a satanic nun there as well. Lamashtu herself, who's one of the sisters of Eve, was disguised as one of the convent nuns."

[anathemic]

"Lamashtu? I imagine she could wear the hell out of a wimple." Hiding her own smile behind a sip of her wine (it tastes terrible, this is not a wine bar, she probably should've joined him in whiskey or beer), Anathema misses the actual Eve for a second. The first woman had been effusively big-hearted, with a smile that could brighten a whole room. She shoves that thought aside; everyone keeps Porting out, constantly.

"I never encountered them personally, but my world had a rash of Satanic nuns trying to bring about the end of the world. I went on a researching spree afterwards, to read up a bit more on them. They were called the Chattering Order of St Beryl — and true to their names, never ever stopped talking while their order was active. They've got some pretty great a capella, though.

"On the one hand, apocalypse. On the other hand, at least they weren't going around shooting people in the gut?"

[constantdick]

John laughs softly. "Good one." He thinks briefly about another one of Eve's sisters—Lilith, whom he'd met in this world a while back. Not that he'd known who she was at the time, but has figured it out since, although he hasn't talked to her lately.

"Never 'eard of 'em. Regular nuns aren't too chatty as a rule, with some of 'em taking vows of silence and all. Yapping their mouths off, that's a mark of the devil, is it?" he jokes.

"To be fair, she was pretty ticked off at me."

[anathemic]

"What'd you do to merit said ticked-off-ness? Was it deserved?" Anathema's trying her best to finish the shitty wine as quickly as possible so she can order something better, so her swigs are getting deeper — and as a result, her mood looser, her questions more blunt.

She scrutinises the man over the edge of her drink. Possibly the answer's going to be something horrible, considering the general flavour and outrageousness of his stories sometimes. Worth asking anyway, though.